Concealed Identity. Jessica R. PatchЧитать онлайн книгу.
to her insides, disarming her guard.
A few Appaloosas grazed near the fence. She’d meant to bring them apples. “I’m used to doing things alone.” It was safer than offering her trust only to have it betrayed.
“I get that. And you seem completely capable. But...I’m here and I have two capable hands, too.” He splayed them on his sides, his white T-shirt clinging to rock-solid biceps and chest.
Could she trust him? They were just collectibles, but she did love her routine. She also dreaded some of the heavy lifting.
“All right. Sure.” She didn’t like being out here alone anyway. If she was really alone. It felt as if a million eyes were staring at her.
She grabbed her work gloves and donned them, her hands instantly turning clammy from the insulation. “I might have an extra pair.” She held up her gloved hands. “Over there on that worktable.”
Holt nodded and rummaged through tools and odds and ends until he found some. “How long have you lived in Hope?”
“Couple of years. My grandparents grew up here. They were happy in Hope. Plus, I love the name of the town and I needed it—hope—when I first settled in.”
“Where are you from originally?” He grabbed a tote from the truck, and Blair motioned for him to stack it near the back wall.
“All over.” She laughed. “Military brat. What about you?”
“I grew up in Memphis. Spent a lot of summers in a town like this. Glory, Mississippi. My grandpa was the sheriff and my grandmother ran a lot of women’s groups...and kept me and my cousin Bryn in line.”
Blair liked the way his eyes lit up as he talked of his grandparents. “My grandpa died when I was very young, but I treasure the memories. Grandma Viola passed shortly after I graduated high school. What about yours?”
“My grandpa died a few years back, but Grandma Mavis is still kickin’ and thinking she’s thirty and not eighty-two. I haven’t seen her since last summer.”
“You should go. See her. You never know how much time you have with someone you love.”
“You’re right.”
Blair heard the heartache in his voice. Who had he lost? That was private and she didn’t want to pry by asking, but she was curious. She focused back on the task at hand. “We can arrange everything in categories. After that, I’ll log each item with a short description, how much I think it’s worth—unless I need an expert. Once I nail down prices, I’ll determine what will go into my store and what will stay in inventory.”
“I know we’re not supposed to covet, but right now I’m coveting your organizational skills. You should help me organize my store.” He continued unloading totes, bags, furniture and garbage sacks full of junk.
Holt lifted a hefty tub and carried it to the housewares piles. “Clearly, you’re in great shape, but some of this is seriously heavy. You never have any help?”
Heat crept into her face, and she brushed the hair sticking to her sweaty cheek with her forearm. “My brother helps out sometimes, after I’ve looked through it. But he’s...unavailable. And Gigi mostly whines, so I don’t even ask. Occasionally, Jace Black from the Black-Eyed Pea helps. Or Mitch Rydell. Have you met him yet? He’s my neighbor. Owns those horses.” She pointed toward the pasture.
“I haven’t met anyone officially.” He sat on the tub, took off his gloves and raked his hands through his damp hair. “Maybe you can introduce me around.”
“Maybe.”
“So, why’s your brother unavailable?” Holt surveyed the barn, taking his sweet time, as if hunting down something. Or maybe she was being paranoid again.
Dread filled her stomach. Sometimes Jeremy liked downtime and took off on his own, but he generally called to check in. “I’m not sure. He’s a loner.”
“He live nearby?”
“Memphis.”
“Cool.”
Holt continued to pepper her with questions. Some she answered; some she dodged. “Okay, enough with the twenty questions.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and surveyed their piles.
“I’m just trying to get to know you, Blair.” Holt threw a dazzling grin her way. In the past, it would have sunk her to her knees. Not anymore. Well, maybe she felt a flutter.
Two hours in, the sun had dipped, but the temperature was still in the lava levels. Blair’s clothing stuck to her skin, stray hairs that had escaped her topknot clung to her cheeks and chin. She headed for an old but working fifties fridge, opened it and handed Holt a bottle of water. She downed hers in record time.
“Not a bad unit.”
No, it wasn’t. She’d overpaid. But sometimes her gut told her it would be worth it—to take the chance. Too bad her gut was always wrong in the romance department.
A turn-of-the-century dresser with intricate piping, a few embroidered decorative pillows and a collection of what appeared to be gorgeous hand-carved wooden ducks—nearly a foot long and several inches wide and deep—still hung in the back of the truck, along with two boxes she hadn’t combed through yet. “I’m wiped out, and I need to check on Gigi. How about we call it a day? I can log these items in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me help.” He scanned the barn again. She’d noticed him poking around a few times. Was he looking for something in particular or was he simply curious?
They walked toward the house. Holt stopped in his tracks and slowly pivoted toward the barn, head tipped.
“What are you—”
“Shhh.” He placed his index finger on his lips.
Blair’s throat tightened.
The horses in the pasture whinnied.
Bullfrogs croaked from the nearby pond.
A feeling of eeriness seemed to creepy-crawl through the humidity.
Holt’s eyes hardened as he surveyed the yard. Woods flanked her pond, and farther back was Mitch’s pastureland. Anyone could be out there. Fear slicked her bones.
“Stay here,” he whispered before jogging toward the barn.
Blair wrapped her arms around her middle and concentrated on seeing beyond the black of night. Even Holt’s silhouette had disappeared, but his voice boomed, “Hey!”
She heard the sound of feet running through the pasture. Blair’s nerves jittered. Adrenaline raced through her veins. “Holt!”
He’d told her to stay put, but what if he was in trouble? She hurried across the yard as a dark figure jumped the barbed-wire fence and plowed into her.
Her vision obscured by utter darkness and the stranger’s hoodie, she couldn’t make out a face, but his gravelly hiss connected with her ear as he clenched her arm in an iron grasp. “Rats die. Remember that. And don’t expect your boyfriend to save you.” He shoved her and she hit the ground, knocking her head. Again.
* * *
Holt rushed to Blair. Kneeling down, he touched her cheek with his left hand as he still gripped a gun in his right. “Blair, are you hurt?”
She groaned. “No more than I was before.”
Glancing up toward the house, he grinded his teeth, reining in his temper. This guy had gotten away. Again. “Give me your hand.” He helped her to her feet, and ran his hand over her head. “No bumps?”
“No.”
Holt put his arm around her waist and helped her to the back door.
Blair shivered against him. “Did you see his face? What do you think he was doing, prowling in Mitch’s